


Friends Forever

by okapi



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Fem!Anderson, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Lestrade, Friendship, Gen, Genderswap, Male!Mrs. Hudson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Girl!John and Girl!Lestrade talk about "Star Wars", their names, and promise to be friends forever. Short ode to female friendship. Includes re-imagining of an early scene in "A Study in Pink." All genderswapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Through the Sherlock fandom, I learned about the [Bechdel test](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bechdel_test). Now that I know it's a _thing_ , I see it everywhere in the media. It's a cryin' shame and patently absurd that there aren't more representations of female friendships. So I decided to write about it, using Fem!John and Fem!Lestrade.

Two girls lay on the grass, staring up at the clouds on a sunny day.

“Sister Mary Francis is going to kill us,” said the blonde. Their white blouses were untucked from plaid skirts. Shoes and socks were beside them.

“You worry too much, Watson,” said the auburn haired one. “It was too nice a day to stay inside.”

“That’s why we cut class to sneak into Return of the Jedi,” remarked her companion. A fist full of grass hit her in the face.

“Pfft,” she spit. “Princess Leia is cool.”

“Yeah, she is. Shooting guns, fighting Imperial Storm Troopers, riding speeder bikes.” Both girls made vroom noises, sticking out their arms, and pretending to battle imaginary foes at high speeds. “Han Solo is cooler, though; he’s got the Millennium Falcon.”

“And Chewbacca,” said the blonde, making a wookie bleat.

“Who would you rather be, Watson? Han Solo or Princess Leia?”

“We can’t be Han Solo.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause we’re girls, stupid,” Blades of grass hit her companion in the face to punctuate the argument.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing ever, Watson. Of course, we can. We can do all that stuff.”

“How?”

Her companion contemplated the clouds. “I dunno. But there’s gotta be a way. We’ll figure it out.”

They stared at the clouds for a while.

“I like her name, Leia. I hate my name.”

“Watson is a perfectly serviceable name.” More grass was thrown in both directions. “I hate my name, too. My father is named Greg. _His_ father was named Greg. _His_ father was named Greg. Why can’t I be named Greg?”

“I dunno. Even Greg is better than mine.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Jonine.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“American. My Dad’s mum’s.”

“I thought your dad’s family was from…”

“My real grandmother—the one no one talks about.”

“Jonine—sort of like John.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

More clouds passed by.

“Think we’ll be friends forever?” asked the blonde one, turning on her side to face her companion.

“Of course.”

“Pinkie swear?”

Her companion whined.

“Pinkie swear, _Greg_!”

“Okay, _John_! Jesus Christ, we’re such girls!”

They intertwined little fingers, but the promise went the way of many childhood promises. Mr. Watson lost his job the following year, and the Watsons moved. And that was the end of that.

 

**_Twenty five years later…._ **

 

_There is no way in hell that I am doing this. As soon as it’s polite to leave, I am taking my cripple self back the bed-sit and crawling under the covers. Stupid, stupid, stupid idea._

The arm chair was quite comfortable, but her leg hurt and her hand twitched. John studied the silhouette of the tall woman standing at the window.

_The body of a junkie wrapped in a suit that costs half my army pension. No way. It’d be madness. It’d be better to be alone than stuck in this nightmare._

An older gentleman entered the room, reading from a newspaper, “What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that’d be right up your street. Three exactly the same”.

“Four.”

“There’s been a fourth. And there’s something different this time.”

“A fourth?”

Heavy boots bounded up the stairs. John saw the back of auburn-haired woman in a long raincoat.

“Where?”

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.”

“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”

“You know how they never leave notes?”

“Yeah.”

_The trick she did, knowing my life story like that, I’ll admit, was pretty brilliant, but just look at the place, it’s a mess! And she just moved in!_

“This one did. Will you come?”

“Who’s on forensics?”

“It’s Anderson.”

“Anderson won’t work with me.”

“Well, she won’t be your assistant.”

“I need an assistant.”

_No, you need a minder, and I, for one, am too old for that. When’s the last time you ate? Or slept? Oh, when can I get out of here?!_

“Will you come?”

“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.”

“Thank you.”

The woman turned. John’s mouth fell open.

“John?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Greg?” said John. A dazed smile bloomed on her lips. John stood up too quickly and winced in pain. She reached for the cane to steady herself. Lestrade raked her eyes up and down.

“Jesus Christ! It’s been…”

“Twenty years, more, I think.”

“Uh, we need catch up…and….Wow!”

“I know.”

“Listen, I have to go…I can find you through Sherlock, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure. I…may be taking the room upstairs,” said John.

_A friend. Holy Mother of God, thank you._

“Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!” cried Sherlock, with a little jump in the air.

 


End file.
